Murder and Espionage
by e.y.e.hawk
Summary: Can Stephen Maturin put the puzzle of the last fortnight together in time?
1. prologue

Murder and Espionage

Stephen Maturin curled up in a dark corner of the small cell. Or what could be more adequately called a hole in the ground with only a small light streaming in from the tiny hole in the well above his head. There was no light from the sky this night - the violent storm that had been raging this last two weeks had seemed to fade but was apparently still enough to block the moon and stars that he had not seen in two days.

Hardly the place for the naturalist but for the physician sure - even the smell of the air was enough to make an able bodied man ill. But what did heath matter to any that were here?

But for the humble ship's surgeon with no great amount of money was thrown here, even if he had been a traitor with money wouldn't have to share his remaining hours with fours others. Traitors? Maybe. But most likely thieves or criminals of crimes more common.

Their fate, however, as told by the 'x' on the other side of the door would be the same. That wouldn't be for another day yet though, and until then it was the slow wait in this cell.

After all his efforts to help with the confusion of Bonaparte - he was still an Irishman, and not to be completely trusted by the very English Admiralty. The same that he had sewn together or at times apart, was tortured, put everything he had on the line, just to help. And now he was a traitor to be thrown away quickly.

He stared long fully at the wall opposite him over the four bodies lying motionless on the floor. He wondered with how much force would he have to meet the wall to crush his skull, but as a physician he dismissed this thought. If only he had with him that night the pills he carried while in Spain.

The massive oak door creaked and slowly. The horrible noise not disturbing Stephen from his thoughts for a moment; seventeen days Stephen would have found this impossible. The door opened further causing Stephen to blink violently.


	2. ashgrove cottage

Yes suspense – its ok everyone you can breathe now! Deep breath in and out, and in and out. This story was inspired by the first few chapters of Desolation Island, so try to picture this right before the first chapter. AND may I add here that this story was all Heather's fault who used her evil powers of brain control to force me against my will to write a mystery. Never fear I shall have my revenge! But for now I'm going to go bake some cookies. Enjoy.

* * *

ashgrove cottage

sunday - day one

Stephen blinked violently as the orange sun rose over Ashgrove cottage. He had received Jack's letter the day before and had come this morning with his response. Before he could utter a single word however he had been ushered in by a Sophie with bits of food sprinkled down the front of her front and seated in the breakfast-parlor. Then left there when Sophie rushed out to find the meaning of a dangerous sounding thump from upstairs assuring him that she would be back down shortly.

Stephen thought of his response and of how he hated turning Jack down who had, as always written as sure as day that Stephen would be able to come aboard without a thought to anything else. Stephen's hands though were tied - he had to say no – he was needed in London.

"Stephen, good morning," came Jack's booming voice jerking Stephen form his thoughts being particularly loud in the quiet of the morning. "Hola Jack" was his quiet reply. Jack, however, didn't seem to notice but looked to his waistcoat. "Excuse me Stephen – Sophie!" he called letting his feet guide him out and pulling at his waistcoat to get a better look.

Stephen absently looked around him for the first time. Stephen was shocked as the thought finally struck him, had he been in this breakfast-parlor before?

The twins were the next to enter the breakfast-parlor and Stephen stood politely. "Good morning ladies," he tried to say as cheerfully as possible over their odd expressions. They mumbled their own "good mornings" and sat down eyeing each other suspiciously and not giving Stephen another thought.

Stephen sat for a moment uneasily with the twins picking at his food. Though thankfully before he had a chance to become thoroughly uncomfortable Sophie returned.

She had been flustered when she had shown him in, but now the food had been wiped clean from her dress and she was gleaming. "That takes care of George – I'm sorry to have kept you waiting Stephen."

Jack followed her in pulling his waistcoat into place over his large form. He smiled brightly " her name is Lygnus…"

The next hour of breakfast was spent with Jack going on about his new ship HMS Lygnus. Him speaking of her with all the love and affection that he would the wife that was sitting next to him. Stephen was thoroughly accustomed to just tuning him out after the first few minutes coming back only to add an intelligent sounding "oh?" or "yes I'm sure" in the intervals.

What stood out enough for Stephen was that she was a fifth-rate, forty eighteen-pound guns. Jack had already recruited Pullings, was having difficulties tracking down Mowett and had found that Babbington was in the West Indies. Killick and Bonden of course being here with him already.

After breakfast Jack and Stephen retired to the drawing room and the twins followed Sophie upstairs who had gone to tend to a now crying George.

"Have you written to Mr. Glenn he is still in London is he not?" Jack asked sipping his cup contently. "Jack..." Stephen began slowly then paused, and decided to just come out with it. "I have to be back to London tomorrow-" "Surly you'll be back in time-" "I'm afraid not brother. I will write to Mr. Peterson about my replacement if you are in need. "

This news suddenly pulled Jack out of the high he had been in all morning making its effects more dramatic than was usual with Jack.

"Oh well, of course – just a simple scouting trip anyway. I doubt there will even be time for one case of scur-" Jack mumbled on not knowing where to end this ill-considered speech. Luckily, though, his brother understood and nothing more needed to be said.

He put down his coffee, which suddenly held no interest. Jack knew well enough of his friends affairs no to inquire ab out the trip to London that was costing I him /I his ship's surgeon and companionship.

Jack suddenly realized he would have to account for his long silence. "Did you hear from Kiara?" "She had just hired a new head for that great house of hers. A Madame Vasseur, I believe it is." Stephen sighed, "London life does not suit the poor creature. When I saw her last she was most unnaturally pale."

They continued conversing for sometime after or until that is the coffee went cold. Enjoying each other s company as they had for so long when Stephen stood, "Well I must be off my dear. I wish you fair winds for your voyage." "Ah, thank you Stephen," Jack said then sullenly led his friend out.

When Jack finally did return it was to find Sophie waiting for him. "Has he left already?" "Yes sweetheart, he has left."


	3. london

Another short chapter – sorry peoples I must tell my brain to work in longer chapter mode.

To the reviewers I would like to add sniff you're the reason I get up in the morning, the entire light of my life. So now don't you feel bad if you didn't review? evil laughter I am thinking suggesting to this site that if people read without reviewing they get a small electric shock through their computer. Oh well there's a thought. On with the fiction!

* * *

london

wednesday - day four

By Wednesday both men were back in their elements. Jack restlessly was pacing his quarterdeck worrying about missing stays and Stephen was on the streets of London at the same unholy hour for a meeting with a contact.

There was an icy breeze blowing through the vacant streets. The gas lit streetlamps were shining on the empty cobblestone ways, as at this hour even the wildest of London was fast asleep.

Stephen pulled his coat closer to him. Despite the cold breeze Stephen noticed while walking there was not a cloud in the sky. The brilliant stars were shining defiantly against the dreary black of the night sky.

The day had been a long one and he was unable to sleep even a little during it, as he knowing of his late rendezvous had tried. This did not faze him much, however, as a physician he had been forced to spend many sleepless nights with patients, and he was of course no novice in his..._hobby_. Though the lack of sleep still gave him a dreamlike disposition, which found the stars in a word, delicious. It was so unlike the normal weather of this place.

When Stephen finally did arrive it was with a small disappoint at not being able to spend more time out of doors even if the weather was much too cold for his tastes. The sign that read: _The Rampant Lion Pub and Inn_ was now directly over him swinging in the soft breeze.

Without much thought, Stephen skillfully slipped into the shadows of a small alley that led between the pub and the building behind it, where there only dim specks of light.

Stephen suddenly felt his foot lose its balance felt rest of him quickly follow. Before he had another thought he was flat on his back with the wind knocked out him, and thoroughly soaked in the puddle he slipped in. Stephen painfully rubbed the back of his head where it had hit muttering curses to himself for being so thoughtless. He lent the other hand on the ground next to him to slowly push himself up when he felt something next to him and to his horror had just enough light to see what it was.

A face, a horrible face with a look of confusion and panic etched into every detail. Its eyes were wide and staring at the stars above. Under it was a streaming gashed neck that accounted for the puddle, Stephen was drenched in was lukewarm blood. He could see the bits of peeled back skin from the man's neck and under it an emerald coat – he was Stephen's contact.

Immediately understanding came to Stephen. He shot up, shed his coat, then as quickly and as causally as he could manage mad his way back to the Grapes. They knew.


	4. admiralty

Alright its been awhile since me last update three days less than a month in fact. I would like any who have problems with this to please have Baldrick make you a time machine so you can go back and punch Shakespeare –insane laughter- Yes I have shown that special to everyone I know since I got Ophelia. But here we are getting off topic. Sorry if this chapter is a bit dull I had to get a few things set up before I could continue with the suspenseful – dangerous – stuff. I must also say that this piece was written by a contemporary writer for a contemporary reader – meaning there will be no out of date spellings – and for that to your disbelief's horror no British spellings – in short no colours and no miss – sorry. To keep the contemporary occupied however for this chapter you may see a link to all the names I have created save Kiara who was originally Joe Kerwin - Lyn made me change him to her to keep the piece interesting. blah. Now read on!

* * *

admiralty

thursday - day five

"It should only be one of three things Doctor-" Stephen nodded impatiently he didn't need Mr. Warren to remind of things he already knew. Warren sighed deeply and looked to the letter on his desk. "The message designating the point of contact could have been intercepted - the entire source has gone off, or your contact may very well have been murdered for his pocket money." "I did find him in the exact place of the meeting," "Just so," Mr. Warren's face again fell back to the letter as if rereading it would change its contents.

"Everything depends on this source Dr Maturin - **everything** the whole damned show. So without a scrap of evidence to the contrary I am forced to believe the message intercepted and the code broken."

Warren wouldn't consider the possibility of a double agent that much was clear or he would have listed it. Stephen for a second wildly hoped that this meant that each agent with them had his complete unwavering trust, though he knew enough through his own end to know that this would be impossible.

He shifted in his seat and began to feel uncomfortable as the heat of the room rose in sharp contrast to the cold morning he had left only a short while ago. With this contact it was completely necessary for him to trust his fellow agents; the message for point of meeting had to be sent by a different agent and with a new code, each time there would be new intelligence.

Stephen, however, had never before seen Warren in such a passion - perhaps he was right and the code was only broken. Perhaps. Warren wasn't one to be reckless with his agents. Though something in Stephen's instincts, somewhere beyond his reasoning mind told him that this hadn't been the case.

When Stephen did finally look up it was to see Mr. Warren gazing now at other papers. He seemed far off having already considered and dismissed this problem and moving on to others. Stephen suddenly sensed that his presence was no longer required, or indeed appreciated.

He quickly rose, "Well sir I must now bid you good day – there are cases in the hospital that will require my attention." Warren visibly jerked himself from his thoughts, "Yes of course. You will not forget...the day after next?" "I will not," "Good day then, Dr Maturin."

Stephen now felt the cold misty rain hit his face as he began his walk through the streets of late morning London. He hadn't seen the point in calling for post-chaise at the Admiralty, where he was going wasn't far. He quietly passed through the scores of markets indoors and out on London's streets. Past a brief picture of a six-foot tall Scot arguing over the price of two goldfish with a overshadowed Chinaman. The markets that had the misfortune of being out of doors were weathering the rain like heroes; though if they packed in every time it rained in London they would do little business.

He cursed her for the moment bitterly; he knew that when he arrived he wouldn't receive the cup of coffee that would be heaven itself right about now. Though through this unforgivable fault he grudgingly had to admit that she was the only agent he should even consider passing this on to. This thought made him stop dead in his tracks.

Trust? Was this word – was this **thing** within him anymore? Above all to trust a woman - who he knew from experience could so easily deceive with a pretty smile. Stephen pressed on: he supposed that he was glad that if his fickle subconscious had chosen someone to trust at least it was he had known for a considerable time, and he flattered himself to think that he knew something of her nature.

When Stephen finally did stop it was in front of an old brick Georgian style townhouse. He sighed deeply knowing it would be tea he would have to settle for. He was quickly shown in by Madam Vasseur then thankfully seated by a roaring fire. He sat completely content listening peacefully to the rain outside, sinking still deeper into his chair not caring if he was to sit there forever.

Stephen, however, didn't have to wait long for Kiara to find him. She wore a day frock that fitted the morning exactly and as Stephen had said London life did not suit her in the least, the color was gone from her face along with it if Stephen wasn't mistaken more than two stone. Her overall appearance resembled that of a ghost not at all helped by the room being dark with no amount of lighting that could bring life to the dreary morning.

"Good morning Stephen," said she. "Good morning dear Kiara." "So how is himself?" she asked joining Stephen by the fire. "Well – well he has a new ship - _Lygnus_. His spirits have soared," with Kiara he didn't feel the need to elaborate on this thought. "I'm glad to hear it," she smiled, "When he hadn't written I assumed as much."

When Kiara caught sight Stephen starring down into his tea she realized this wasn't the reason he had called. "Would you like me to ask Madam Vasseur to put on the coffee?" she silently scrambled for the right words. "No. Thank you," Stephen then sensed the awkward atmosphere and decided to just come out with it.

Still acutely aware of the fact that he was speaking with a woman, even one that he had known for so long, he began to go into what had happened. He then continued with Mr. Warren's response – finishing with reassuring of its likelihood. Kiara politely listened though she was annoyed at the small pauses indicating his censorship. She was, as always, forced to read between the lines; as a lady what else could she do? When Stephen finally did finish his one-way conversation there was a long moment of silence as both contemplated what to say next then, "You don't agree with him – Mr. Warren – you don't feel that the message was intercepted."

"No..." Stephen began slowly then sighed deeply realizing now he would have to account for himself. "If it were - then why wouldn't he have waited?" "You did say you were a few minutes late?" "Yes – yes I did," Stephen presently began to study the remaining tealeaves in his cup.

Kiara didn't need him to explain she had had enough experience of this sort of thing to know that intuition was half the game. Stephen though scorned himself for saying as much as he did and worrying her with his irrational fears. When he had thought of visiting he had wanted to leave her convinced that Mr. Warren was of the right way of thinking. But, as was so often the case, he said more than he intended in her company. She did have a queer way of getting things of that nature out of him.

Kiara watched the fire as it violently cracked. What did he suppose had happened? She knew she couldn't press him for any more information now: he would only go back to insist that he agreed with Mr. Warren even if it was as plain as the nose on his face he didn't.

"Well I'm afraid I must leave you now my dear – I have patients waiting in the hospital." "Must you go out in this weather?" Kiara felt a sudden guilty relief at seeing him go, "I'm afraid I must, good morning Kiara." "Good morning Stephen..."

* * *

The excuse that he had given both Mr. Warren and Kiara was genuine, to a point that is, the truth was none of his patients needed his immediate attention. Most of them could be handled by his assistant and would be surgeon's mate if he could have accepted Jack's offer, Mr. Glenn, an amazingly young, agreeable man with - despite his age – had at least some skills in physic and who had been to sea without sickness several times. Stephen was more interested than anything else in the state of Mr. Edwin Grey the midshipman whose leg he had to take from gangrene the week before.

Before the surgery the young man was pale for the loss of his first ship and his equally unsuccessful captain's court-martial; for weeks after he wouldn't even speak with anyone. It was for that that Dr Maturin had worked so tirelessly to save the badly mutilated leg. At the end though it seemed to be less dangerous to take it than to let him keep it, even with facts as they were, though after he had he wasn't sure that it was. Grey had stopped taking food and slowly began to falter, losing weight and becoming paler by the day. Stephen had left London uneasy even with Mr. Glenn at hand.

Glenn now told Stephen that Grey had taken to starring at his new wooden leg for hours on end. After all His Majesty's Navy had plenty of room for Admirals missing an eye **and** an arm, but none for a lowly midshipman who ha duty in the tops. How was he to advance now?

After his few words with Glenn who answered his questions shortly in his deep hoarse voice, Stephen went to look in on the patient. When he did he found that his spirits had gone up considerably since last he saw him, and that in his place was an entirely new midshipman: he was refreshed and awake and busily chatting with another lost mid from _HMS Sienna_ who was sitting on Grey's sea chest next to him. When Stephen greeted them both the other mid quickly and quietly left as if being caught at something. Grey now didn't seem to be able to stop talking; on he went now to Stephen who was lucky if he caught every other word of it as he checked the stub that Grey had left for a leg. Grey spoke in such an excited passion of a slew of nautical things that flew right by Stephen Maturin, though he greatly enjoyed the continuous flow of words and for some reason found himself fighting back a smile despite himself.

When he was finished he stood br Mr. Grey's window – him now having moved on to the ship of the line he was to be in – he might well berth by himself – his new captain was known to be one of the fortunate men in His Majesty's Service for prize money – it looked out to the dreary city sitting in fog and still being rained upon. Stephen's next meeting would not be until the day after tomorrow. Though now that he had some time for the thought he wasn't terribly worried, similar things had happened to him before many times and probably would again. It came with the trade. As he quietly reflected now he realized -though never at any time of meeting, as if a warning.


	5. st james's park

st james's park

four hours after saturday - day seven

His next contact would have to be met early – very early, in fact the bells of every church rang to tell it to be four exactly when Stephen again walked down the abandoned park. It was a dark night. Clouds covered the moon and stars clouds that held the still soft rain that was soaking through Stephen Maturin. Rain that felt like sharp iodine splashing against his face.

The contact was to be met in an acquaintance of Mr. Warren's barn and this time he intended to be early. The black outlines of it against a dark blue-gray sky now were visible to him. He turned down his head and plunged on. He couldn't see an ounce of light from that barn but he supposed that that was to be expected.

He opened the doors slowly and when his eyes had adjusted to the new shade of darkness he could make out the silhouettes of eight stalls on either side of him. One of which had a horse sticking out its curious head in his direction. He quietly went on, taking in every detail of his surroundings – 1, 2, 3... when he opened the gate which took him into the 4th stall he was taken aback by the sound of straw crunching nosily under his feet.

His contact has unsurprisingly not arrived yet; he was the one who was early this time. Though Stephen still sighed impatiently, leaned on the side of the stall and convinced his dulled mind that he would listen for his contact's approached while his rested his strained eyes. He had been up most of the night with Mr. Glenn and Mr. Grey who had developed a late infection and had been mumbling deliriously for hours. He had only just gotten into a peaceful rest though still with a slight fever when Stephen was forced to leave him.

Stephen jerked himself out of his doze - to his credit he wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep completely in this uneasy silence. He stared into the darkness before him but could only see the shapes of the horses shifting in their sleep.

He later had no way of telling how long he had stood there that morning. Even with his nerves raw he kept he kept drifting in and out of the world outside of him. Presently though Stephen's eyes bolted open as he realized that he had strayed completely into a dream. The stables had begun to fill with the dim light of morning and he had still been left waiting. He started at the small noise of something touching against wood. He took a small step forward off the side of the stall to see that it had only been that same curious horse chewing at its gate. He could barely make out the blue hedges of the creatures face with his still sluggish eyes. He stepped forward again to get a better view when he felt his foot hit something – something soft.

Filled with disbelief his mind at once began to race as he knelt down beside it and blindly reached out to feel torn flesh - a deep, dry and brittle wound. He quickly jerked his now wet hand back, leaned forward and peered into what he could see now with the same blue light a face with the mouth slightly ajar and two large eyes starring blankly forward under it again was a cracked clumsily slashed neck.

Suddenly a wave of guilt hit Stephen – there wasn't time for that now something had to be done and quickly. He needed to know more about how these two men became bodies which meant that he would have to take it with him - but where? A list of places quickly passed through his mind, hospital, admiralty, none of them seemed plausible in the least. Too many questions.

His glance turned to the horse still diligently chewing at its gate across from him, when an idea suddenly struck. He dismissed it and set to work again – it would be a last resort. In the dark Stephen managed to make his way to the tack room across the barn. He should have voiced his suspicions to Mr. Warren, though his suspicions were unjustified and Mr. Warren's mind had been set. The small room was still very dark despite the rising sun forcing him to feel his way past smooth saddles, hanging bridles, followed by an oak desk. In the darkness the picture of what he saw of the body suddenly briefly swept into his mind and he thought bitterly that they were not unjustified now. He paused trying instead to picture the room around him.

When he came from the tack room it was with a blanket over his shoulder and a lead in his hand.

* * *

Stephen tried to press against the creature's uncommonly large neck as the rain was now at a hard pour with thunder trailing somewhere behind, along with a harsh wind that swept past them both. Through the streets he kept his well-behaved companion from hurrying in case his cargo should take to flapping about. The church bells echoed through the streets again – seven o'clock. His fingers were numbly clutching to the lead and his feet too desperately ached by the time his reached the mews he was after. When he pulled the animal into the nearest stall he abruptly stopped.

"Easy – easy – hold still let me get your leg out." At that moment the body finally fell from the horse and neatly into the thick bedding of straw with a strikingly loud thump.

He was caught completely off guard by her presence in the stables; the whole of the plan instantly dissolved and he dully put himself forward. "I trust you wouldn't mind-" he made himself begin. "Stephen? Stephen you are positively shaking – whatever made you go out on such a morning?" Kiara couldn't decide what worried her more Stephen's sickly state or the glimpse of Sir Ander's prize stallion.

She snatched the lead from Stephen's frail grip threw a slip knot into it well away from the adjoining stall that contained the grey mare that she had been arguing with. "Come-" she mumbled taking a firm grip on his arm and leading him into the house.

Then on entering her drawing room she sat him next to the hearth with the coals from the mornings fire still shimmering. "I'll fetch you some of my grandfathers things," she said finally releasing her grip on him.

When she had gone Stephen stared blankly at the coals trying desperately to think of more excuses for his intrusion though his mind was dull from weariness and made him unable to focus on anything but the warmth of the coals. He began to fall into a deep sleep, though he tried to jerk himself awake a couple of times on his way down to an outsider it would only appear as two violent twitches before he was out completely.

The late Lord Herrington even in his best days wore clothes yards wider than Stephen and when Kiara took a final look at the room while tying her bonnet into place she found him in them and buried back into the same chair in front of what was now a roaring fire and with a neglected coffee pot before him. The carriage was announced ready and she left.

"Stephen – Stephen wake up." Kiara gently shook his shoulder. If she hadn't been just back from returning a misplaced stallion that she happened to come across running loose – the impertinence of the groom for not latching the gate properly having no respect at all for property – she would have laughed at the sight of him in those clothes, sleeping in that old chair, completing the effect was the smell of Courvoisier which he drank adamantly until it became (in his own mind at least) unpatriotic.

"My – my – parcel in the stables-" " I _believe _it fell into some straw. Why is it important?" she asked simply. "Stephen? In Paris didn't something-" Stephen sat up and began to pour himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, thank God. "Do you remember Mr. Mitchell?" At that thought Stephen began instantaneously to stand. "Please Stephen," she motioned for him to sit. He sat – that entire incident in France was completely different a blind man could see that.

Fully awake Stephen took notice of Kiara her face was as white as death and her cheeks deeply flushed. " Are you acquainted with Mr. David M. Walker? Mr. Charles Walker's brother?" "Mr. Warren's secretary?" "Yes that's the one – an old acquaintance. I saw him this morning and – oh Stephen they've sent someone to collect you." Stephen groaned having to avoid arrest would complicate his finding the actual villain.

"Does anyone know that I am here?" "Not a soul I had the fire and the coffee made while you dressed though now that I think on it I wish I hadn't ordered coffee..." Kiara reminded him in case he had forgotten.

"Could I have the use of your attic for the afternoon?"


	6. post mortem

_post mortem and other notes_  
_(later found by Kiara) _

_Autopsy – 'to see for oneself' that said I have never felt so very blind. I have sat at this small desk staring out the dusty window across from it in this suffocating attic for nearly an hour. Alone with the body of a young man of no more than five and twenty, whose stressed green eyes I have just closed for the last time - this boy by his death has confirmed every suspicion that I had given no voice to. The cause it now seems was a wound directly under his ribcage the size of a small dirk or sgian dubhs as it was obvious after my examination that the wound to the throat was inflicted after death._

_When after I searched his person along with ten pounds I found most of his clothing torn and covered in melted wax mixed with dirt, which is the only indication I have as to where the body came from as it makes it obvious that it wasn't from the barn. 'An open flame near flammables, Doctor, is more dangerous than taking Helen to bed.' Now I only wish that my theory of last week had included a name, as I fear my guilt is clouding my judgement enough to make me now unable to name the offender who I believe to be under my very nose._


	7. herrington house

herrington house

sunday – day eight

_Firstly you must always implicitly obey orders, without attempting to form any opinion of your own regarding their propriety. Secondly, you must consider every man your enemy who speaks ill of your king; and thirdly you must hate a Frenchman as you hate the devil._  
_Horatio Nelson_

When Stephen came from the attic and into the drawing room Kiara was practicing at her piano-forte and he stopped suddenly as the song struck him. It was so melancholy and dark he knew he had heard it before he just didn't know where he knew the name and the composer he just couldn't place them. He felt sorry for the girl playing who had lost her mother when she was very young, her brother and remote father more recently, now with her maternal grandfather dead she hardly had any family left. Perhaps that was it – her sorrow brought new life to the piece and made it solely hers.

He came into her view; "I must again insist that no one enter the attic until my return."

"Where are you off to?" She asked continuing to play.

"I can easily hide myself in London – I should be worried if any of this came about in the country. And I would ask a favor of you?"

"Yes?"

"Would you have someone deliver this out for me. Just a note containing instructions on - a most severe case I'm afraid." He said looking down to it.

"Of course. Isn't there anything else?"

"No my dear – I have inquires to make. I'll be back for my parcel when this whole affair is settled. She stood from her piano-forte, "good luck Stephen." He bowed and quit the house.

"'as the Doctor gone Mademoiselle?"

"Oui,"

"Comment vous portez-vous?"

"Ça va – quel temps fait-il?"

"Il fait mauvais – il est venteux."

Kiara sighed, "Cela ne fait rien."

"Je veux bien sortir avec vous." Madam Vasseur offered.

"NO-" her tranquil face from before hardened and there was an awkward moment of silence.

"Et cette lettre?" she asked meekly and Kiara gave her a cold look.

"Est-ce qu Richards a préparé le dîner?"

"Oui Mademoiselle."

"Bien – excusez-moi."

When the attic doors lock had been picked Kiara stood over the young corpse with harsh and indifferent eyes. Being at top of the house it was fairly hot and stuffy in the small attic with the smell of the corpse making even more unbearable.

"Now if I know the good Doctor..." she mumbled searching the corpse. She found her object in his shirt pocket then wiped the blood that had gotten on her hand from the chest wound on his sleeve then began to read. "Thank God the fool put it in Latin-" she said before taking the ten pounds into her bodice then neatly refolding and replacing the memorandum.

She smiled maliciously, and then looked down at the body. "He really has no clue has he?"

* * *

"Barret Bonden what on earth?" Bonden laughed at the Doctor's blunt approach. "Why are you not afloat?"

"Why as to that sir _Lygnus_ came fully crewed being saved for some high up captain I reckon. Not a single post untaken God love us."

"How long are you in London?"

"Oh not long, just long enough to see to some – to some family matters."

"Bonden if I could ask your help on finding someone…a midshipman I believe."

"Well sir I would be the last person-"

"Not now though I have a pressing engagement for tonight – could we meet at the coffee shop down the road tomorrow?" he asked distractedly.

* * *

Kiara watched Mr. Warren's last letter shrivel and be engulfed in the orange flames as they licked high. With, much to her irritation red blood red roses behind her that Mr. Stafford had sent after hearing that she had taken ill. Which was always a good way of getting out of going anywhere during the Season.

It will not be long now though, she thought, a woman of property and small fortune living alone no matter how happily could only have scandal or a husband. She scoffed when she remembered her last dinner party in town. "There will be no master of this house only a mistress," she growled at the hearth angrily putting on her coat then leaving the house.

She then went through the small door in the garden that led to a secluded street and stubbornly continued against the wind that roughly went against her coat coupled with occasional flashes of lightning.

When she stopped it was outside the high brick wall of the secluded Armstrong garden. The meeting tonight was almost to the point of being public knowledge. Regardless she was certain both contacts would be there.

Though she dully hoped he wouldn't be there – she clutched her sgian dubh hidden in the palm of her hand – if he was she would have to cut his filthy throat. The church bells rang out suddenly breaking the silence – midnight. She stood on even more impatiently arms crossed until she heard the soft sound of his footsteps behind her. "So you have found me out?"

* * *

**A/N** Yay I'm finally getting to post this! I tried all last night and I kept getting a stupid error that said the server was busy try again later. And then my accents wouldn't load. -- but here it is at last and I hope you will forgive the quote I just thought it fit the chapter. And yay you finally get to see what two years high school French does – kinda sad eh? 


	8. stafford hall

stafford hall

monday – day two

When Kiara entered Stafford Hall she hadn't the slightest expectation of enjoyment. She had only been convinced into coming by after receiving invitation in advance not being given ample time to think of a likely excuse.

She sighed deeply as the gentleman himself rushed to meet her. After every civil enquiry asked for her hand in the first dance of the evening she readily gave it in the knowledge that her intendant would presently leave to greet his other guests.

This left her free to wonder the room at her leisure with the glimmer of hope at finding a more welcome familiar face. Though she soon was soon engaged in a dull conversation with Mr. Warren, which in the end made her eager for the dance to begin.

At this point she found herself saved by Sally Ride a particular friend who rushed her away and asked, "Has your first dance already been promised to Mr. Stafford?"

"I'm afraid it has."

"Oh no matter. I daresay there will be plenty yet! My first has already been promised to Mr. Carey. It _is_ a beautiful room is it not? Come quickly Kiara I have someone you _must_ meet."

"The set is forming-"

"Oh alright - you must find me immediately after, agreed?"

When Kiara had given her friend her most earnest assurances that the moment the music quit she would find her, Kiara took her place in the set.

Mr. Stafford's desperate attempts at conversation almost began before Kiara had set foot forward. Had she enjoyed Ms. Ride's song from the night before? Yes she had. Did she sing herself? Very poorly. He did most earnestly enjoy her piano-forte from that night.

It was strange, as she had done nothing to encourage his affection; in fact she did everything in her power to discourage it, yet there it remained as if he was just waiting for the chance to find her out.

As promised the moment she could civilly slip away she found Sally who then proceeded to introduce a Mr. Glenn into Kiara's acquaintance. On meeting him Kiara understood exactly why Sally had been so eager. He was after all, a tolerably handsome man with a completely pleasing disposition, which was emphasized by his unusual voice.

What was worse was that he took no particular notice of Sally _or_ Kiara, after they had been introduced and all the civil inquires made, but let his eyes stray to some other lady in the room. Though through some determination on Sally's part the conversation continued and it was found out that both Kiara and he had the common acquaintance of one Dr. Maturin. At this topic the gentleman's attention finally focused.

"I believe he will return to town tomorrow if not this very day," Kiara answered to his inquiry. And even went on to recommend Mr. Stafford who also had his acquaintance.

"I have never met Dr Maturin, is he amiable?" Sally asked trying to rejoin the conversation that had left her at a lost.

They both in turn gave her the all the best assurances on his character. Though Sally's reentrance into conversation had come too late for her designs as Mr. Glenn now applied to Kiara for her hand in the next dance, which was happily given.

It was not a moment after Kiara had accepted Mr. Glenn that Kiara eyed a lady acquaintance of her own: Diana Villiers.

She remained somewhat distracted with it despite her best efforts during the dance. Conversation was space and her partner, noticing that she did not attend, took his leave at the end of it.

When Mr. Stafford found her again they talked quietly for some time, without his giving the slightest implication of a wish to dance again for which Kiara was very grateful. He wasn't after all and despite his constant tedious chatter and unnecessary attentions, a bad fellow. After grudgingly admitting that much she felt perfectly willing to let the rest of the evening slip by in this way.

Her intentions, however, were soon to be spoiled by that same old acquaintance suddenly taking notice of her and the gentleman she was with.

"I have it from Mr. Corey that you are recently returned from America?" Mr. Glenn asked.

"Yes from Boston – though mind I would not set foot in any of the more rustic parts further north."

That was all it needed for Kiara to begin looking desperately about the room for distraction, though the only person within reach was Sally and she still had a tight grip on Mr. Glenn's coattails.

"I'm sorry you did not find it to your liking," she replied coldly.

Oh not at all – she had only said _parts_ of it - she would never venture to commit on the country in general - she found _her_ stay very agreeable. She had merely meant that she would avoid _parts._

After she had finished explaining thus, Kiara changed the subject with, "How fortunate you are to find so much time to devote to go visiting. Was it a relative of your late husband you were visiting when I saw you last in India?"

The entire meaning of this conversation left Mr. Stafford and as their tones were completely civil he took it to mean that the topic was a happy one and asked both ladies their opinions on the two places.

It wasn't until the carriages were beginning to be called for and began fading that Kiara was finally able to make her escape while Mr. Stafford received final compliments from his departing guests.

Kiara sat in the little seat in the window tiredly watching through the black night the rain steadily pour.

* * *

The rain steadily poured on the back of a slowly waking Kiara lying flat tin the middle of the street. The church bells rang faintly in her ears as she tired to regain where she was and what had led her there.

Slowly coming from her daze she pulled herself up with a shattering pain in her chest that made it difficult for her to breathe. She stumbled forward and was immediately overcome with dizziness, which made her fall forward knees pounding on the hard street.

When she rose and again went forward she suddenly became aware of her other senses. The rain in particular was iced cold and was relentlessly pouring. It soaked her as she went and continually flooded her shoes as she went through puddle after puddle. Her back felt like it was wide open and stung madly though she couldn't tell the exact part the pain was coming from. Her scalp burned and her entire body felt as if it were being pinched presumably from bruises.

Kiara didn't know where she was nor at the moment did she care. She couldn't think who had attacked her, what had happened, or even if they would be back. At this moment she could only think of the pain and the cold and that she had to keep walking to get away from it.

The church bells again. She realized then that she didn't know how long she had been walking.

The pain in her chest grew worse making it harder still for her to breathe, blood began to run into her eyes, and she dropped her head now blindly pressing forward.

She tripped was hurled forward this time hitting her head on something she didn't see and not getting up.

* * *

Stephen was again at the hospital again early that morning. He had been called out of hiding by a note from Mr. Glenn telling him of Mr. Grey's of Mr. Grey's rapidly deteriorating condition. So much in fact that when Stephen did arrive he resorted to the old Greek method of bathing in ice at one point.

When at last Mr. Grey's temperature did steady again it was almost light and Stephen now stood anxiously by the window watching the sunrise. He closed the sheer curtains, jotted down a note for Mr. Grey's care, and left quickly.

* * *

Gasping, shaking, and unable to stand on her own after again regaining consciousness, Kiara pulled herself up by an iron fence next to the walk. The wind from the Thames blew cruelly against her as she pulled herself forward by the next rail, then the next, until her chest tightened and she was unable to go further.

Her aching hands began to slip as she took one last look up to the now brightening sky. She finally let go, falling into something soft – something warm.

* * *

**A/N **So I cut myself short – this chapter was actually twice as long – it was one of those things where I just started writing and couldn't stop myself. Even to check for errors. So I guess the next chapter will be up when I feel like bothering with the whole 'upload document' thing again. Who knows maybe I'll even proofread it. ;) 


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